Crocodiles
by skinnyrita
Summary: Voldemort is flaring up inside Harry's head. He will use him to access Draco Malfoy in the worst of ways, but why? All the boys want is their lives back, to go on with their schoolyard taunting and winning the Quidditch Cup. But fate is cruel. HPDM HPGW
1. Chapter 1

Hello everyone, I'm writing this story in a response to a challenge by Velven Malfoy, which was basically to do a Ginny/ Theodore Nott, with some Draco/Harry on the sideline, but what it actually has become is the story of a sexual assault, mind games from Voldemort, and two young men trying to come to terms with a situation beneath their control. It has slash scenes, but I don't think it will actually become a slash story, just a bit of confusion. I have written up to chapter five, but there's not much point in posting them unless people review to say they like this and want to see what happens; there's so much stuff on now, I don't know whether much of what I put on will get read. So please review!

Disclaimer: No part of Harry Potter of its characters belongs to me. No profits are being made. This disclaimer applies to the whole story.

A/N: Although this story had to take place in 7th year, as I am uncomfortable with writing any sexual situations with underage characters, Dumbledore and Snape remain as they were before HBP so that needs to be disregarded. Enjoy. **

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**Crocodiles.**

PART ONE.

Harry Potter finished drying his left foot and began hopping about trying to tug his socks on. It was a tragic, vulnerable moment, especially as he soon afterwards crashed into the side of the changing room benches and staggered around cursing with half a shoe on. So it was lucky that he wasn't disturbed until he was sitting safely on the bench and was wiping all the mud off his broom. His brow furrowed; Harry Potter was not accustomed to losing. The sound of a deliberate snort alerted him to the other boy leaning with an arrogant nonchalance against the open door, where silhouetted by the sun going down across the sweeping pitch behind him he looked absolutely unwelcome. "Good game, Scarhead," he said, and grinned.

Harry turned his back on Malfoy and scowled. "Get out of it, Malfoy." He began folding up his quidditch uniform and putting it in a pile with the rest of the team's for washing. He bent over and picked up his broom again, conscious of the other boy's gaze on the back of his head. It made him tickly and he rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously before pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He gritted his teeth, and repeated, "Malfoy, _get out of here_." He got another snort in response. But this time it was closer. "Malfoy-" he turned around and found himself face to face with the smugly smirking enemy.

"What's wrong, Potter? Going to throw a tantrum? Too good to lose?" and damn it, Malfoy was smiling. Smiling really, really close. Harry inhaled hard through his nose, letting the breath out slowly.

"Get out. I won't say it again."

Malfoy stepped closer. "Don't try to threaten me, Potter."

Harry raised his chin a little –Malfoy was taller than him and this close up it was really starting to show. Harry faltered. He didn't have his wand on him because of the quidditch game, and now was a time when he might really need it, as he was not particularly handy in a fight. He took half a step back, inwardly kicking himself for having let Ron go off to meet Hermione without waiting for him. Kicking himself for poring over his quidditch strategies to see where it had all gone wrong this morning. Malfoy's smile had faded; he looked… not exactly threatening, but pensive. Not a look that Harry generally associated with his nemesis. He stepped up even closer, and the back of Harry's thighs hit the captain's desk. "What the hell are you trying to pull, Malfoy?"

"Harry! Harry, are you still in there? Ron and Hermione are fight-" Ginny appeared round the doorframe, "-ing," she finished belatedly, freezing at the sight of Harry backed up into the desk with none other than Malfoy a centimetre from his face. "Harry?"

"Excuse me, Malfoy," said Harry coldly, giving the offending boy a little nudge out of the way. He groped for his bag and broom, swinging them both over his shoulder and ushering Ginny back out without looking back. If he had, he would have seen that day's quidditch champion hoist himself up onto the Gryffindor quidditch captain's desk and sit there reflectively.

"What was that about?" asked Ginny, curiously, trying to look up at Harry whilst keeping pace with him as he stomped away from the quidditch pitch, brow creased. Harry slowed slightly and threw her a friendly smile.

"No idea –Malfoy just being… well, Malfoy, I guess," he answered, scuffing his trainers on the grass, the hand that wasn't carrying his bag and broom, stuffed into his pocket, in a typical Harry mannerism. He paused, then added, "probably about to gloat over the match." The hand left his pocket and began tugging at his hair, trying to make it lie a bit flatter –another Harryism.

"We have to lose sometimes," said Ginny, trying (and failing) to console him.

"Not to that git, though," said Harry petulantly, "usually he can't catch the snitch even when it's hovering right under his nose. So either he was uncharacteristically great this morning… or I was just shit." Ginny bit her lip and didn't answer. "And," Harry decided, "I have to say that not only was that bastard on great form today, but also that not only did I suck, I sucked more than I have ever sucked before in my life."

Ginny laughed, "poor sucky Harry," giving him a shove. Harry chuckled and then paused, looking back at the quidditch stands. "Come on, Harry," Ginny urged gently, giving him a little tug, but he didn't move. She registered the internal battle playing across his features –was he seriously considering going back in there to hash it over with the Slytherin git? He was. "Harry?" he looked down at the bag he was carrying, thinking about something. "Harry," she repeated, feeling a little annoyed now that he couldn't let the situation go, "come on, I need you to distract Hermione and Ronnie from murdering each other."

Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times, cleared his throat and said, "I left our strategy notes on the table. Malfoy might still be in there, what if he reads them? We'd be finished."

Ginny gave the arm she was holding a hard shake, "Harry Potter, would you stop obsessing? Come on!" she gave him a hefty tug which caused them both to stumble on the soft lawn, but did little else to sway his decision.

"I'm sorry Gin, but this is really getting me –I'll meet you in the common room?"

Ginny groaned, "you know what Harry, sometimes you're a real git," she said starkly. "Give me your bag, I'll take it up with me."

"Thanks, Ginny." She was already gone.

Malfoy turned at the sound of footsteps, his body still bent over the Gryffindor quidditch strategy. At the bottom, in Ron's unmistakable scrawl, was 'KILL MALFOY' written in blotchy capital letters. He had just been laughing to himself over this, when Harry burst back into the changing rooms. He straightened up hurriedly, conscious of his wand in his right pocket, the distance between himself and the bespectacled hothead in front of him.

"Making copies, Malfoy?" Harry spat, gesturing towards the crumpled notes littering the desk between them. Malfoy walked round with deliberately annoying nonchalance, until there was barely a wand-length separating the boys. He smiled nastily.

"I wouldn't touch your strategies with a twelve foot broomstick, Potter. Why would I need to –Slytherin are, after all, top of the quidditch league. Perhaps you've come back to get some pointers?"

Harry's nostrils flared, but otherwise he didn't give the blond bastard the satisfaction of seeing him cave. That is, not until he hit Malfoy full on the cheekbone. Malfoy reeled back and drew his wand. Harry froze –after all, he didn't have his. "Crucio!" Harry was shocked, he knew Malfoy was a royal git, but he'd never get heard him utter an unforgivable curse. Luckily, it seemed to be his first time of trying, as it was easily shaken off, though Harry's nose began to trickle with a slight nosebleed. He wiped his mouth briefly with the back of his hand, swinging back and lashing out at Malfoy again all in the same movement. Harry wasn't very good at hitting people, but Malfoy was no stockier than himself, and clearly wasn't used to being used as a punchbag. He got him in the stomach. Malfoy's thighs hit the desk as he backed off. "Stupefy!" Harry felt a surge of power and deflected the hex. Malfoy's eyes went wide. "What the hell, Potter?" he hissed, angrily.

Harry felt his temper going out of control. He hadn't done serious instinctive magic since he blew up Aunt Marge. The freedom felt absolutely wonderful. Addictive. "You think you're a match for me, Malfoy?" it was not him talking, surely. He felt a surge of empowerment, the kind that ran through him when Voldemort was very, very happy, oblivious to Malfoy's sudden look of horror. As if in a dream, Harry leaned forward, bending the other boy backwards over the table, jerking the wand away from his throat and out of the offending hand, flinging it away somewhere over his shoulder. Malfoy lowered onto the desk, hair blotting drops of ink, consumed like never before: by sheer terror, as his nemesis' hand curled gently around his throat, the veins standing out bright and blue. Harry smiled like a crocodile.


	2. Chapter 2

The parts in this story are quite short but that will allow me to give regular updates. please review. **

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**Crocodiles.**

PART TWO.

Albus Dumbledore was walking through the third floor corridor when it happened. He had Professors McGonagall and Snape at his side, arguing good naturedly over the outcome of the quidditch match, their earlier hostilities quickly reduced to gentle teasing. The biggest surge of Dark Magic he had ever known to pulse throughout the Hogwarts castle shook his senses like an earthquake. He stumbled and almost fell over, saved by the quick reflexes of his potions master. Albus Dumbledore, was not a man who stumbled.

Malfoy wanted to move, but he couldn't. His limbs were weighed down with horror, paralysed by fear. He stared up into Harry's face with a kind of morbid fascination as redness crept into his pupils, the shadows of change flickering his features. Yet even more horrific was the intense waves of desire that were pulsating off the boy that was definitely not the boy, the saviour, the total git he was used to dealing with. The thing's face lurched nearer, but Malfoy couldn't flinch –he felt like he'd been petrified. The boy, who was not Harry, bent his head and started kissing him hungrily on the neck. In the back of his mind, Malfoy needed to push the unwelcome weight away, escape somehow, but the signal was refusing to reach his paralysed body.

Harry drew back, but where he was he had no idea. His body was out of control, it was doing whatever it wanted, and the powerful waves of magical intensity were pressing on him, he needed an outlet for them. Dimly his mind registered a mouth meeting his. That seemed like a good outlet. Someone was talking to him from a long way off, but it seemed as if they were drilling into his skull: there is no good and evil, only power, and those too weak to seek it. In that moment, Harry completely believed it.

Malfoy was frantic inside, his lips caught painfully in unwanted passion. He felt the other boy's dominance, then, somewhere, felt and heard his quidditch shirt ripping. _No_! that was the only thought dominating his brain at that point. No! then suddenly all other communicative thoughts poured back into his brain, and his pushed out with everything he had. Harry sprang off him, and fell onto the tiled changing room floor, at his feet, screaming.

As suddenly as he had let his senses drift off into the dark power he had been experiencing, Harry came back into himself with a jolt. His scar was on fire. He fell to the floor, unable to still his ear-splitting screams of pain, hands clasped over the lightning bolt –shaped cut, and felt blood gushing like a new wound. His body was spasming at an incredible rate, his yells reaching such an incredible pitch that his voice gave out and his throat was bleeding but he couldn't stop.

Malfoy had been frozen again, clutching at the edge of the desk as Harry (and it seemed that Potter had come back into himself) writhed and screamed beneath him. The noise thinned but that didn't stop the boy contorting in pain and his throat straining wordlessly. Bubbles of bright red blood started fuzzing out from between his teeth and from under the fingers pressed over his forehead. Malfoy's eyes were as wide as saucers. He scrambled back over the desk, falling off the other side, squishing backwards until he couldn't go anywhere because the wall was at his back. He huddled there, until the faint sound of a sharp voice jolted his eyes from the horrible, unwavering spectacle before him.

"In here!" he shouted, his voice quickly reaching a franticly loud volume, and he kept on shouting, "in here, in here!"

Snape skidded round the corner, wand out, and barrelled into the quidditch changing rooms, closely followed by Dumbledore, McGonagall puffing up behind; the least agile of the three. They absorbed the situation within seconds: Draco Malfoy, white as a sheet and shaking, huddled, clawing against the back wall, his mouth bloodied and his robes hanging off one shoulder. Harry Potter: writhing in a fit of insanity.


	3. Chapter 3

Hello, thought I'd put this up while everyone else gets stuck into the sherry! Merry Christmas everyone. please review, as it's Christmas!**

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**Crocodiles.**

PART THREE.

"I didn't… I didn't…I…" Malfoy started gibbering as McGonagall reached him, the sweep of her robes successfully blocking him from the sight of Snape and Dumbledore trying to restrain Harry, her face uncharacteristically gentle. She prised his fingers gently from the wall. He clenched his fingers together until the knuckles were white.

"Mister Malfoy," she began, fishing for something to say to him, only to find Snape's hand nudging her shoulder. She rose and faced him: "he's in extreme shock. Severus, if you're going to question him… don't question him."

Snape frowned. "Minerva…"

"Severus, I think Potter tried to assault him. He needs space."

Snape's expression cleared into neutral. "Potter has been restrained. He will be moved to the hospital wing until he's alert enough to give Albus permission to access his memories. His scar…" he stopped, glanced at Malfoy, still huddled on the floor, his knees drawn up against his torso. "I shall bring Malfoy separately. He will not thank us for the embarrassment of being unable to walk up under his own bearing. I shall guide him up when he can stand."

"Thank you, Severus."

When Harry awoke, it was to the smooth stone ceiling of the hospital wing. His head was killing him, and his whole head was fuggy, as though he had been overloaded with toxic potions. His limbs were far too heavy to let him sit up, but he could turn his head, each movement sending shudders of pain through his whole body. Madam Pomfrey must have been in her office. The wing appeared empty, though it was hard to tell through his blurred vision, save the bed next to him. Malfoy was lying on the bed next to him, but completely prone, clearly under the influence of the dreamless sleep potion.

Harry sensed a movement and tensed, but felt his glasses brush against his hand. He could not grasp them. "Harry," Dumbledore's warm voice, though laced with a grave tone. "I shall put them on your face. Do not be alarmed." He saw the black frames first, then the wizard's face swam into focus above him. Albus Dumbledore looked as grave as his voice betrayed, "do not try to talk, Harry, you were screaming and have damaged your vocal cords. Madam Pomfrey has administered a tonic to you, but your throat may take up to a week to heal completely. The vocal area is of such a complexity that it is not possible to fix the damage with a single spell. Harry," the headmaster leaned forward, so that he could see the boy's reactions, "I am going to cast a form of the legilimens charm, so that I can talk with you between our minds. May I do this?"

Harry blinked, then nodded slightly. Dumbledore gently touched him on the forehead, thankfully nowhere around his scar. He felt his mind being invaded, and after a moment's instinctive resistance, let the professor's mind melt into his own, and his questions penetrate his brain.

"Why did you return to the quidditch arena?"

"I wanted to confront Malfoy. I was angry about losing to him, he gloated at me and we fought."

"What manner of fighting was this, Harry?"

"He had his wand. I hit him on the face and in the stomach and he tried to curse me. I was so angry, I lost control of my magic. I was able to deflect him. I felt…"

"You felt Voldemort take over your powers."

Harry froze, disjointed memories flying across his mind. Memories of Malfoy's horrified reactions. Memories of the attempted assault. He felt like he would throw up.

"Harry," Dumbledore's voice drifted into him gently as the mind link was broken. "Mister Malfoy allowed us to cast legilimens on his mind. He saw Voldemort looking out of your eyes. Your scar opened. Harry, I know that this is difficult for you, but before he wakes up, you must know that Voldemort appears to have accessed your mind and attempted to assault Mr Malfoy. Harry, we know that this attack had no connection to your conscious mind, but you should be aware of the trauma caused not only to yourself, but to Mr Malfoy. I have made a decision to let you both remain here until your throat is healed. Now, please, Harry," Dumbledore laid a placatory hand on his forearm as Harry's eyes widened in alarm. "I will not be contradicted on this. You at least will need to be kept under observation for a week in the event of another episode. If you cannot communicate with Mr Malfoy, no one is going to force either of you to try."

A few hours after Dumbledore had left, Harry had fallen into a fitful sleep. He dreamt sporadically, mainly of his nemesis. He dreamt of all the main points of pain he and Malfoy had been through, in no set order. Sometimes they were fighting, or he was knocking back his hand on the train before his sorting, then they were squabbling on the quidditch pitch. And suddenly, they were kissing.

This was not a memory, it was a thought that he recognised from some old subconscious thought, and he began to fight out of the dream as the clothes were shedding behind his eyes, and his fingers were tangling in long, blond hair.

Harry shot up in bed, breathing hard, eyes wide open, just as the boy in the next bed did the same.


	4. Chapter 4

Hello, here we go. Sorry I couldn't update again until I got back to uni, but here I am. Please review to let me know how you all think this is going. I think I've written up to about chapter six, so the next update's on the way. Enjoy! In this chapter -Malfoy gets back at Harry.

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**Crocodiles**

PART FOUR.

Harry swung his legs over the side of his bed, feeling immensely giddy. He slipped slightly, and grabbed for the side of the bed. He was met with Malfoy's arm, steadying him. They steadied each other for a moment. Harry blushed. He was, after all seventeen. He had woken up with an erection and needed to go away to…dispose of it. That his dreams had been yet again consumed with an image of the boy only inches from his face was the worst part. Malfoy's gaze slid down, and his face became unreadable. Damn. Harry tried to get up again, but Malfoy didn't seem to be letting him. He went to protest, but then remembered he couldn't talk.

"Potter, don't try to talk."

Malfoy pushed him back onto the bed again, swiftly checking over his shoulder for traces of Madam Pomfrey. "You took something from me, Potter," said, in a low voice, "you don't know how much, because it wasn't even you. I don't know what you were then. Potter…" he leaned down and attached his mouth to Harry's neck. Harry didn't know what to feel, only that this felt like a scene from the dream he had just woken up from. He wasn't sure whether… he'd just started thinking that maybe he would like to try it on with Ginny, but now… Malfoy, who was certainly very much a male, had his hand on Harry's morning erection. And it was… it was… what was it? He had absolutely no idea.

As suddenly as he had started coming onto him, Malfoy sat up and shifted off Harry and back to the edge of the bed, his face flushed, leaving the mute boy's arousal unabated. He drew in a shuddering breath, and said, "feeling violated?"

Three days passed in practically silence within the hospital wing. Malfoy lay on his bed, taking the opportunity for a break from lessons, and to get his thoughts together, feeling ashamed for what he'd done to Harry. He knew, in the back of his mind, that the black haired boy in the next bed had not been at fault. The quidditch match that had triggered their fight seemed like it had happened years ago. It was the dark lord that had made this happen, not Harry, no matter how much he wanted to pin the blame on the other boy. He had no idea what Voldemort's interest had been in him, that it should suddenly turn into some kind of… sexual assault. Every time he thought of those moments, his mind just tried to shut them off, preventing him from coming to terms with what had happened.

Harry had been visited twice daily by Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and most of the quidditch team since he had been admitted to the hospital wing, but the visits were short, as he was now forced to write any correspondence on a bit of parchment. Hermione had most unhelpfully tried to keep him up to date with the work he was missing, despite Ron's insistence that Harry could really use a break right now. So there were a few books and assignments stacked up next to him, but most of the time he had been too weak to look at them. He was having painful nightmares again, full of Voldemort and now of himself assaulting the other occupant of the sphere of pain he seemed to be inhabiting. Some days he would wake up in pain after his limbs had been flailing and jerking in torturous contortions all night, and once his scar yet again reopened. It was now a jagged line of ugly dark black scabs, and tweaked when he frowned. His sleepless nights had led him to fall asleep sporadically throughout the day, inducing further opportunities for the dreams that plagued him.

Harry looked across at Malfoy's bed. The boy was motionless, his gaze far away from the ceiling he was looking at. Harry felt a surge of sympathy. He had felt Voldemort stir within himself before; granted it had never happened as badly as this, but it was not a completely new sensation, and was something he knew he could not do that much to quell at the moment. However, what had happened to Malfoy was racking him with guilt. Harry hadn't always led a particularly happy existence so far, but he had never been assaulted in that way, and no one had ever tried to assault him. He had not only been alarmed when Malfoy had attempted to show him this violation, but had found that he pitied this boy he had spent the past six and a half years hating.

Laboriously, Harry swung out of bed, trying to keep his head as still as possible and padded over to the side of Malfoy's bed, though keeping a foot or two away in case he felt uncomfortable. Malfoy turned his gaze on him abruptly. Harry handed him a note.

"_I'm sorry." _


	5. Chapter 5

hey everyone, i'm sorry i haven't updated in such a while, i've been hideously overloaded with work, but the fic is still in progress, i've nearly finished chapter six, it will also be up soon.

disclaimer: hp not mine

enjoy and please review.

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**Crocodiles.**

PART FIVE.

Harry sat up in bed writing an essay, with his Potions book open on his lap, trying to catch up some of the theory work Snape was setting in his absence, as he couldn't very well do the practical experiments. He was tired, his skin was sallow and his forehead was giving him a migraine, but he'd be damned if he was going to fail Potions –that, as Ron had said when he dropped the work off, was just too good an opportunity for Snape to put him in months of detention when they could be devising a better quidditch strategy.

He glanced over at Malfoy's bed. He was lying motionless, his back turned towards Harry. Unlike Harry, he had not attempted to work, though Pansy had brought him some arithmancy notes to glance over. The sight of his attacker, who was not his attacker, looking at him, or even breathing the same air as him, had warped his mind. Contact with Pansy had made him flinch away, and she had been hurt, she didn't really know why he was there. He had told her that he had some 'internal damage' from fighting with Potter, but that it would go away. Internal damage? That was certainly true. But he could not truthfully say that what he was feeling would go away in a hurry. Not when he didn't even want to have to think about it.

He kept dreaming about Harry assaulting him on the quidditch captain's desk. They went a lot further in his dreams. He kept trying to wake up so that he could get away and be safe, but he couldn't open his eyes until the very last moment. He awoke feeling angry and confused. He felt dirtied and disgusting, perverted, and he wouldn't let Snape access his memories any more in case those dreams materialised on the surface of his brain. Snape was clearly worried about him, shocked at the proud boy's weak spirit. Maybe, Malfoy thought in the back of his mind, maybe I _did_ enjoy it after all. But he had no one around to vent his frustration and shame on, apart from Harry …and damned if he was going to go anywhere near him.

The Potions book slid off Harry's knees and struck him like deadweight on his ankles. He groaned, painfully, his throat still ruined, and set his essay on the bedside table, placing his quill carefully at the side before it blobbed all over the parchment. He had to lie back and rest for a minute, temples throbbing. Slight red spots had been appearing frequently at the edge of his vision since his scar had opened, and they had been worrying Madam Pomfrey. He lay still for a while, waiting for his head to stop spinning. He was staring at the underside of his eyelids when the weight was lifted off his feet, and he snapped his eyes open, expecting to see Madam Pomfrey holding a vial of the disgusting throat tonic, but what he was actually confronted with was Malfoy, looking extremely ill and very wary of him, holding the text book with both hands.

Harry sat up fast, swayed, then lay back down again. He raised a quivering eyebrow at Malfoy, who laid the book on the table and said, haltingly, "I thought maybe you were having another…another one." He approached the bed. Harry tried to shift away from him, exerting all his energy into wriggling to the other edge of the bed without rolling out. Malfoy simply got onto the bed beside him. He laid one cold hand on Harry's quivering collarbone. Harry gasped and tried to flinch away, shaking his head. He was shocked to see tears on Malfoy's face, but didn't know what to do. He didn't want to reach out to the boy, he wasn't used to dealing with his male friends like that. Comforting Hermione or Ginny was one thing, but this wasn't even Ron, it was Malfoy, and Harry was terrified that he might try to kiss him again. He didn't know why he had kissed the other boy during what was now referred to as his 'episode', but he was definite that he had no attraction towards boys, and was just getting over his slight confusion over his sexuality.

But Malfoy seemed to be on a voyage of self-discovery, running a hand from Harry's collarbone down to the dip of his stomach. Harry mouthed, 'Malfoy, no', but he couldn't speak out loud because he was still mute, and Malfoy still had tears running down his face, though looking at Harry… in almost a desirous way, but more checking him over, as though he was looking for something, some sign that would tell him how to feel, whether he really was attracted to other boys, as he was beginning to suspect, or whether this strange feeling he had was just some twisted by-product of what had happened to him.

Malfoy closed his eyes and stuck his nose into the curve of Harry's neck, "this is all your fault," he muttered, even though it wasn't. He heard Harry take some nervous, if not terrified breaths, as he realised what that meant. He sat up and looked into his face. Harry's eyes were fixed on the ceiling. "Please." Green eyes flicked to his. He leaned down and pressed his lips experimentally to Harry's, who tensed and remained completely motionless for a minute. He kissed him softly for a few seconds, then pulled away. Harry's eyes were fixed on the ceiling again. "Potter? I'm sorry." It came out as a hoarse whisper. And elicited no response. Malfoy swallowed, and turned Harry's face towards him. "I had to know. I can't get over this, so I had to know." Harry nodded. "But now I've assaulted you, right?" Malfoy bit his lip and shifted off and away.

When Madam Pomfrey entered that evening to give Harry his throat tonic, she found him staring into space, one hand covering his mouth. The Malfoy boy was sitting up writing out his arithmancy work.


	6. Chapter 6

I said I'd update soon, sorry for the delay, I was away for a week or so but I'm back now. This chapter is longer, to make up. Reviews appreciated.

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Crocodiles.

CHAPTER SIX.

"Do you think I'm a queer?"

Harry leaned over and scribbled a note: 'why do you care what I think?'

"That's a yes." Malfoy met his eye: "nothing that happened this week leaves this room, got that?"

'Why are you doing this?'

Malfoy shrugged. "Nothing will have changed. I still think you're a sucking up teacher's pet, and you still think I'm the Slytherin git that beat you at quidditch. The complicated stuff won't mean anything."

'You're not just queer, you're a queer _git_.'

Malfoy laughed. "You can insult me when you get your voice back, Potter." He picked up his books and stuck his wand in his back pocket, making his way to the door of the hospital wing. He had chosen to leave in the evening when everyone would be at dinner, and wasn't sure yet how to talk to his friends, particularly Pansy, when they met up again. He turned the handle, pausing on the threshold back to the past. "Hey Potter, get well soon."

In Malfoy language, that was as close to thanks as Harry was going to get.

Harry's throat was still very bad, because he was still screaming in his sleep, but he could whisper extremely quietly if he absolutely had to, which was apparently progress. There was a sheaf of Hermione's transfiguration notes beside him so that he could write an essay on the theory of switching spells. He struggled with it half-heartedly but was really aching to get out of the stupid bed and more importantly away from the hospital wing; he seemed to spend half his life in the place. But his head was still throbbing, and his dreams were a little strange, though now mainly of Ginny. Thank goodness –nothing else to do with Malfoy or even much of Voldemort had passed through his subconscious. However, his waking thoughts were still so full of movement that being awake was sometimes even more frustrating than the dreams that were not under his control.

Ginny had been visiting constantly, and it was becoming clear to everyone that knew them that would soon become a couple. Harry wanted it to happen and had set a date for the next Hogsmeade weekend, provided that he would be allowed out. He liked Ginny, she was smart, funny, liked him (rather important) and he also had Ron's blessing to take her out, snog her senseless, and bloody hell, marry her if the mood took him –and for Merlin's sake just prevent her from going back out with Dean, because it made him uncomfortable.

Yet again, since Malfoy had used him to …well, practically experiment on, he couldn't get those moments out of his head. He was still certain that he didn't fancy men, but the experience kept reliving itself in his head. Sometimes he wanted to touch Malfoy again, but as soon as he thought anything of the sort, his scar would fire up… as though Voldemort was thinking exactly the same thing. And recently, as that was the thing he wasn't meant to think about, it was all he could think about. Hence the headache. It wasn't him that was had attacked Draco Malfoy. It was the man inside his head.

It was Voldemort.

"Harry?"

Ginny. She'd made him jump. He grinned at her. She ambled over; dragging her school bag, which was crammed with books and quills, and juggling another pile of books under one arm. She relinquished them with a sigh of relief, onto the end of his bed.

"Bloody hell, Harry, start getting your voice back, I'm being crippled by Hermione's efforts to keep up your education!" He laughed silently, finding her hand. She sobered a little, and gave him a little peck on the cheek. All thoughts of Voldemort evaporated from his mind, and felt deliriously happy. For once, Harry Potter felt like a normal boy, getting a kiss from his soon-to-be girlfriend. She nudged him over and snuggled up a bit next to him. "So, how's it going?"

"Slowly," he whispered, painfully.

"Oy, use your parchment to write on."

'Sorry, Mother.'

Ginny laughed, flinging a sheet of red hair over her shoulder with an unconscious elegance. Harry thought it was incredibly sexy. "Well I'm worried about you. We all are. So you need to get better and give me a break …Ron's suspended quidditch practices, he's trying to come up with a new strategy, since Malfoy read our other one. He's becoming a little obsessive, so what with Hermione starting her revision –two months earlier than last year, I might add –it's a bit of a nerve centre in the tower at the moment." She nestled into his shoulder, and he rubbed his chin on the crown of her head before planting a kiss on the flaming waves. Ginny glanced up, "what's that for?"

Harry smiled and shrugged, twirling a bit of red hair around his index finger.

"Miss Weasley!" Ginny jumped off the bed. Madame Pomfrey had come round the curtain to give Harry some more throat tonic and was looking extremely formidable. "You can have Mr Potter all to yourself when he gets out of here, but right now the boy needs rest!"

Harry loved how they always talked like he couldn't hear them just because he was mute. He caught Ginny by the sleeve. "I'd better go, Harry, I've got a heap of charms to do. I'll see you tomorrow; try not to have nightmares, ok? … See you later." She pulled a few more books out of her bag, and a sheaf of notes with Hermione's handwriting on them, obviously detailing all the homework he had missed, and left the hospital wing.

Madame Pomfrey bustled over, with a measuring cup half filled with a deep midnight blue, gloopy potion that was steaming slightly. "Here we go, Potter, I had Professor Snape make this tonic up for you, now it might be a little more unpleasant to drink than the other one, but it's far more advanced. Now that you're starting to get your voice back, we have decided that this might help speed things up a little. Then you can see your friends as much as you want. Dumbledore and myself have agreed that you can get out of here in three days if you follow some vocal exercises, which I shall outline tomorrow morning once I have gauged your throat's reaction to the tonic."

Harry nodded, half listening. Once he got out of here, he'd have to see Malfoy again, and that might be weird.

Three days on, and Harry found himself disjointedly meandering down to the great hall for breakfast, wondering how easy it would be for him to sort of sneak in undetected. Everyone would be in there by now, as Madam Pomfrey has insisted on his taking three different types of throat tonic before leaving and also pressing a bottle of dreamless sleep potion into his hand, for emergencies.

He took a deep breath and raised is arm to lean into the heavy doors, only to have them open inwards. He fell spectacularly into the person on the other side. They both froze. It was Malfoy.

Malfoy pushed Harry back into the corridor behind him and shut the door quickly. He looked pale. "Hello, Malfoy," said Harry, hoarsely.

"Potter." There was a pause. Malfoy looked at him intently for a second, and wet his lips as if trying to decide what he wanted to say. Then he suddenly shoved past Harry and almost bolted down the side corridor, which Harry knew led to the dungeons.

Harry stood still for a few minutes, trying to puzzle the other boy out, wondering if he really had had anything to actually say to him. Then he registered that he was still facing the large double doors he had meant to go through.

At least Harry's pensive state as he entered the great hall distracted him from the stares and murmurs of his fellow students, particularly those from the Slytherin table, whose occupants were still speculating on what had really happened to turn the habitually superior Malfoy heir into a pale mute.

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reviews please. thank you. xxxxx 


	7. Chapter 7

_I have FINALLY updated -celebrates with galaxy chocolate. Disclaimer -HP is not mine, I'm just an entertainer. _**

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**Crocodiles**

CHAPTER SEVEN.

"Don't you want this, Malfoy? Come on now, isn't this what you've always wanted? Relax boy, I can give it all to you, all you have to do is trust me and everything will be just they way you have always wanted it…"

Draco Malfoy opened his eyes and stared at the rich green canopy above him. He frowned. The sounds of his dormitory seemed normal. He registered the untroubled soft snoring of Crabbe, and Zabini's habitual 'ptzah' type snorts. His eyes felt clear so he could not have been asleep very long. He stuck a hand blindly out of his curtains and groped for the large silver chain watch lying on this bedside table. His hand knocked the side of a water glass, and he continued more carefully until he located the smooth round face and slowly brought it back into the confines of his bed.

"Lumos." Ah maybe it was later than he thought. In fact it was much, much later, it was nearly time to get up. Somehow that made the dream all that more creepy. He could have sworn that the unnaturally high-pitched voice in the dream was still with him. In one movement he leapt out of his bed and pulled the curtains completely open. He stared round the dormitory, looking for anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing but the early grey dawning light glimmering from the enchanted ceiling. He wished, and not for the first time, that they did not have dungeon rooms and could therefore have some windows. He deeply wished to escape right now, and flying out of the window would be very tempting. Crossing the room he shrugged into a black dressing gown, slipping through the arched doorway and up the cold stairs into the relative comfort of the Slytherin common room.

From a wand jabbed in its general direction, the smouldering fireplace burst back into life. Glancing about to reassure himself that he was indeed alone at this early hour, Malfoy curled onto a sage leather sofa and hugged himself, deep in thought. The dream that had terrified and intrigued him was fading fast on the outskirts of his conscious mind. He grasped at it briefly, trying to remember. It had been about Potter; of that he was certain. All of his dreams since the 'incident' had been about him in some shape or form. Not sexual dreams. Just… unsettling. Someone asking him to decide what he wanted. He considered the question. Since realising his sexuality Malfoy had been quieter, introverted. He was not ashamed of himself –not really, anyway- he was well aware that he was not the only person at Hogwarts who was not completely straight. What vexed him was the reaction of his subconscious.

He shifted so that he could lie more comfortably on the sofa, face turned towards the crackling orange blaze which was starting to radiate a little more heat now that it had got going. One couldn't suddenly just decide whether one was gay or not, he thought. Homosexuality had to be something that you were either born with, simmering under the bearer's conscious until they felt more ready to submit to the realisation, or else it grew steadily by degrees, over a period of time, as maturity forced the body and the human psyche to develop and realise its own ideas of desire. Either option surely meant that he had, in effect, been 'gay' for a length of time before he was able to realise the emotions for what they really were.

Painfully, deliberately, Malfoy forced himself to cast his mind back to any previous details, no matter how insignificant they might have seemed at the time. Zambini in the communal showers, chatting to him with that underlying uneasiness that he had always tried to hide as he covertly appraised the dark boy's torso, telling himself that he was comparing their muscle structure… fending off Pansy that night after the Yule Ball, the unfathomable desperation to get away when her touches had become just a slight too personal to ignore… wishing he could punch the open grin off Potter's face, rip his Quidditch robes to shreds, maybe not for all the reasons he had previously thought, after the Gryffindor's thousandth capture of the snitch.

Potter. Malfoy sighed impatiently to himself, rubbing his tired eyes as if the action could bring some further clarity to his thoughts. The irony that it was Potter who had attacked him in such an undeniably sexual manner, yet it was himself to experience the epiphany, was not lost on Malfoy. He forced himself to conjure an image of the other boy, much as his mind tried to object to the exercise. Detestable. The 'incident' had left Potter's place within his own personal world in limbo. He still disliked the boy, that fact could not be debated. The temporary truce the two had toiled under in the parallel universe offered by the hospital wing, had since dissipated once returned to the openly amniotic environment of the school corridors. But nothing could become exactly what it once was. One-on-one, physical fighting no longer appealed due to a certain unfathomable sense of misplaced guilt. The secret of the 'incident', not to mention the certain more personal one they both shared, had warped the situation beyond their control and it was intolerably awkward.

Malfoy shut his eyes and stared at the back of his eyelids, glowing red from the light of the fire. Waking up noises had begun to filter down from the dorms above. He should really go back to bed and 'wake up' himself to avoid suspicion. His roommates were not completely oblivious to that fact that something about him had changed; he should try harder to sort himself out before they got together the balls to ask him about it.

Across the castle, way above him, Ronald Weasley whacked his best friend on the arm, and Harry Potter's eyes snapped open.

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_I think you guys should review mucho as then I tend to update faster! lol. No seriously, I am sorry -I had a 15 week project which was pretty intensive so please don't kill me! What do you think of this chapter? I know it has no dialogue but I think I needed a joiner. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Crocodiles **

_**CHAPTER EIGHT.**_

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"Malfoy wake up. Wake _up_!"

"Nurgh? Huh-uh…" Malfoy stopped thrashing around and opened his eyes to find Potter's concerned and annoyed face mere inches from his own. This naturally had to be the very split second that his body betrayed him and he turned away hastily with a gasp.

Harry removed his hand hastily and took a step away. "Please, oh please tell me that I did _not_ just see you come." To his horror he realised that the other boy was shaking with the effort of controlling his helpless sobs of embarrassment and pain.

"I c-can't help it, every time I fall asleep here he sends me these fucking intense images, they're just so fucking vivid, not even good anymore, just like hell, fucking bastard what the hell's he trying to do…" he was babbling. Harry sighed and sat down awkwardly on the edge of the 'mattress'. Malfoy shifted as far away from him as the wall would allow. "Don't come near me." His voice was shaking. Harry paused, and then moved away back to 'his side'.

"Weird type of mind game to play."

Malfoy didn't answer.

"_Don't give in_, Malfoy, whatever he offers you to stop doing this, he's always lying. Right?"

"I'm not stupid, Potter."

"Oh yeah? Explain to me again how we got here then, I must have been hallucinating."

888

"Isn't this what you want, Malfoy? Isn't this just what you've always wanted?"

"I –Potter what do you-"

He knew it wasn't Harry, not really: the eyes were too red, the person who had pushed him behind the tapestry was too rude and demanding and sure of himself to actually _be_ Potter…Harry unbuttoned half his shirt and took Malfoy's fingers so that the other boy could feel exactly what it was he was missing; what he apparently had always wanted. Malfoy's head felt funny…sort of foggy…his vision wasn't letting him see anything apart from Harry's collarbones, smirking lips and teasing red eyes…he'd been having a normal day before this… Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology and he couldn't remember now what had happened in a single one of them…had he eaten today? He didn't know. Seen or said anything to anyone? Who cared…he trailed his right fingers over Potter's pectorals, vaguely listening…

"I can give this to you, Malfoy… all of it…" reasonable voice. Clever voice. Truthful voice… "just give him to me, and you can have him afterwards… you can have him all to yourself… now tell me the truth boy: isn't that all you've ever wanted?"

He felt his head come up as if on string, his head was nodding and he said: "Yes. Take him."

And He did.

888

When Draco awoke, he knew that he would regret that offer for a long time. Edging his hands out from under him, he braced his weight onto his palms, painfully, so that he could take a first look at wherever in hell he was. Hell's about right, he realised. A first sweeping glance of the general vicinity took in a very normal and battered looking Potter slumped against the nearest wall, unconscious through a small head wound which luckily did not appear to be too serious, thank Merlin. On the stone flags he was lying on were two hay-stuffed 'mattresses' and a tin bucket. There was no source of daylight, and he immediately realised he was underground, in some sort of hollowed rocky cavern, with a water source nearby judging by the persistent dripping coming from the rough ceiling. He didn't need to explore to know that his wand was gone, and so was Potter's. And that this was his entire fault.

"What are we going to do? Oh God, _what are we going to do_?" Potter's voice was getting damned annoying. Malfoy screwed his eyes shut again and prayed for mercy. All he wanted was some nice, restful, and preferably dreamless sleep. It was highly unlikely that he would be getting it. Harry spun round on his heel an glared at him again: "tell me again: how _exactly_ did we get here?"

Malfoy groaned, "I said 'I don't know', Potter, some sort of apparition."

"But you can't apparate from Hogwarts' grounds," Harry argued exasperatedly, "it's in 'Hogwarts: A History!'"

Malfoy sat up. "_You've_ read 'Hogwarts: A History?'"

"Of course I haven't, but Hermione has. Damn, I wish she were here. If I had my wand we might be able to magic something into a passable portkey… oh! My _wand_!" Harry ran his hands through his unruly hair and paced vehemently for a minute, muttering "my wand!" until Malfoy got both annoyed and more than a little curious.

"Potter would you kindly _Sit_ _Down_, you're giving me a headache. What about your stupid wand?"

Harry threw himself onto the other 'mattress' and bit his nails for a second, then said: "my wand is connected to Voldemort's –I always knew they were 'brother' wands because their phoenix core feathers come from the same bird –Dumbledore's, actually, but this never really meant anything until that thing with ce-Cedric in the tournament. I duelled him –Voldemort, I mean- and something weird happened with our wands that made this thing happen –hard to explain, Dumbledore called it 'priori incantatem' whatever that is…"

"Yes, I know about that bit," said Malfoy, stupidly. He shut his mouth quickly –offering proof of his father's Death Eater activities did not seem very wise… but luckily Harry wasn't listening to him –

"Shut up," he said, distractedly. He rubbed his nose. "I can't imagine the damage he could do with the two wands together… we have to get it back. Voldemort's always had this weird link to me, though search me why he'd try to get you involved –have you done something to upset him?"

"If I had, I'd hardly tell you about it, Potter," said Draco, coldly. He turned over presenting his haughty back to the Gryffindor.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Malfoy, this is hardly a time for you to get all defensive. Don't you get it? Daddy isn't here and is not going to save you! Neither of us have our wands, we haven't got a hope in hell's chance of getting out of here in one piece, not unless we work together. To top it all, it's all your bloody fault that we're even stuck here. Come up with some bloody ideas!" Draco didn't say anything. Harry sighed, "look, Malfoy, I'm going to be frank," he said quietly, "have you or have you not been given the Dark Mark?" Silence. "Listen, I just want to get back to Hogwarts. Ginny must be frantic by now, let alone Ron and Hermione, and what do you think Dumbledore's doing? They must have half the professors on a manhunt for us, and the other half keeping the press at bay. So come on, Malfoy, please."

"I have it."

"Um, okay," Harry paused, unsure really of how to put his theory into words without offending the other boy, though why he was afraid to offend him was really beyond him. Maybe because, at the heart of it, the underlying reason that they were in this predicament was due to a rather strange attachment that Malfoy junior seemed to have formed on him. "Okay, well then my theory is this: My mind is intrinsically linked to Voldemort's on several levels –which you as you're well aware, have been privy to on a rather personal level – and you're linked to him through the Mark, which must mean that the three of us could become sort of merged together at some point… argh this is making my brain melt… what happens when you're summoned?"

"I don't know. You sort of apparate to him. It feels like being pulled in by the mark. You come out on the other side in another place. When you apparate you have to sort of visualise your destination. It's not like that. It's like a portkey that's attached to you all the time," Malfoy spoke to the wall, "you can't escape it."

"Okay, a portkey… hmm… well you can use those in Hogwarts, Dumbledore uses them all the time. So you sort of portkeyed me along with you. So we should be able to get back the same way!"

"We haven't got any wands."

Harry scooted over and came back to Malfoy's own mat. "What did you do to upset him? I get everything but his intentions as far as you go."

"Father upset him."

"How?"

Malfoy turned his head and cast him a withering look. "You really think I'd be privy to that information? No one can stop him, Potter. You're wasting your time."

Harry wet his lips, then planted them squarely on Malfoy's. The Slytherin reeled back. "Help me get us out, and I'll sleep with you," Harry said, in a haggling tone.

"I don't _want_ to sleep with you!" Draco spiralled off the mattress and kicked the wall: "**Fuck**!" he took a steadying breath and turned round so that he could lean his back on the rough surface. "Don't you ever be a fuck like that, ever again. What's your plan?"

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_Aha, what is his plan? We'll just have to wait and find out, won't we?_

_And before anyone asks me this in reviews, No Harry is Not going to sleep with Draco. This is highly unrequited slash. For once (very rare in my fics, lol) Harry stays with Ginny. Good for her. Lol. _

_Please review nicely, or if not nicely, then constructively. _

_skinnyrita. _


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